Except if it’s underground, theoretically nobody would ever know. Right?
Probably not, since the feds are already on his ass.
My phone starts ringing, and I send it to voicemail when I see it’s my publicist. I’ll call him back when I’m on my way home.
“Look, the plans are already in place. I’m doing this with or without you, Dex. With would be better. I’d love to cut you in on the action and the profits, which will be huge. There will be energy and excitement, and I know you live for those thrills and risks. You know people out here, and you have connections here that I don’t. It’ll benefit us both to have you in on it, and it will all be yours once you retire from the game.”
I press my lips together. I want to say no. I want to stay out of the illegal, shady shit he’s doing.
But I’m tempted.
His words about thrills and risks hit exactly where he intends for them to.
And aside from all that, I don’thatethe idea of setting up a legacy for my own kid. I wasn’t ever planning on having one, but now that I do, pending the results of the DNA test we had done yesterday, I want to set up the sort of future where he doesn’t have to worry about being pressured into doing shit like this for his father. I may be like my dad in a lot of ways, but I don’t want to be like him when it comes to parenthood.
Not that I have the first clue about what I’m doing…but if I’m setting up a legacy for my kid, I want him to know that he can take it or leave it, and I want him to be able to make decisions for himself.
Besides, just because my father starts it with illegal activity doesn’t mean I have to run it the same way once it’s mine.
I have a kid to think about now, and it’s an interesting dynamic to be here with my father, whodoesn’tconsider the needs of his offspring. I guess this is one way to set the kid up financially, anyway.
I already know I’m going to agree to my dad’s terms against my will in the end anyway. That’s just what he does. I decide to just skip past the next level of guilt trips and whatever hidden threats he has and get to the point. I should get back home anyway.
“Fifty-fifty split on whatever clients I bring in,” I say to him.
He makes a face as if to say I’m crazy, his brows rising and his lips twisting as if he’s holding back a laugh. He shakes his head. “No. I wasn’t even going to offer you a percentage. A monthly paycheck instead.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “No deal. You need me more than I need you.”
He rolls his eyes, which is his own defense mechanism when he knows he’s been outsmarted by one of his kids. I’ve outsmarted him enough over the years to read that signal.
“Fine,” he mutters. “You get five percent plus a monthly paycheck.”
“I don’t want the monthly paycheck. I want forty percent of profits, not a cent lower, and I get access to the books.” I know how he works. If he’s willing to open an illegal gambling ring, he’s willing to screw over his own kid.
He sighs. “Twenty percent. It’s the highest I’ll go.”
I press my lips together and shake my head. “No deal.” I stand to leave, and when he speaks next, that’s when I know I’ve got him.
“Twenty-five, no books.”
I turn to look at him. “Books, thirty-five. And you operate it all without me. I just swing by when I can. Final offer.”
“You’ll need to bring all the whales.”
I nod. I was going to anyway. Of course I’ll bring the whales—those with lots of money to burn. The more money that runs through this club, legal side or not, and the more I take from them, the more I line my own pockets.
He sighs and looks out the window. “Fine. Done.”
After he amends the paperwork he brought along spelling out the details of thelegalprivate club that he’ll turn into his lawyer plus the contract that’ll stay between us in good faith, and after the ink is dry on my signature on all that paperwork, I say, “I would’ve taken thirty.” I smirk.
“I would’ve given you forty.” He mirrors my smirk right back at me.
Fucker.
CHAPTER 9: Ainsley Riggs
You Look Nice
